


Z is for Zyrtec

by vipjuly



Series: ZYX's [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Gentle Dom Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Model Dean Winchester, Panty Kink, Professor Castiel, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Sub Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: The same beautiful man sits next to Castiel on the subway every Tuesday morning. There's always plenty of space in the car, and yet they always sit together.Until one day, the car gets crowded and they have to stand.





	Z is for Zyrtec

**Author's Note:**

> i have writer's block!

Every Tuesday morning commute, the same attractive man sits next to Castiel on the subway. Castiel never thinks much of it; everyone at six a.m. has a routine they’re stuck to, and six a.m. on the subway is typically crowded, and for some reason the seat next to Castiel is perpetually empty. That is, until three stops pass and the most beautiful man Castiel has ever laid eyes on sits next to him. 

The first time the man keeps Castiel company, Castiel spends a lot of time wondering if the man is in good enough health to be heading off to wherever he’s going so early in the morning. Mystery man is dressed in a crisp suit, clean lines and stiff shoulders, and when he sits the cuffs of his slacks lift enough to show he’s not wearing socks with his boat shoes and Castiel shouldn’t think it looks so good, since he’s not exactly fashion savvy, but it does, so he settles for acceptance that this guy could probably wear a burlap sack and still look good. 

Anyway, a few moments after sitting next to Castiel the man’s eyes start watering, the rim of them turning red, his nose pinkening and suffering from interspersed sniffles. Castiel pretends to ignore him, because being sick in public is never a good feeling and Castiel doesn’t want to embarrass the lovely man by staring. After another six stops it’s Castiel’s turn to get off and when he gets up his eyes catch the stranger’s - and oh, it’s a terrible thought, but the way they’re watering and slightly puffy has those green irises looking _stunning_ \- and they exchange a brief nod before Castiel steps off the subway. 

\--

The second time the man sits next to Castiel he seems to be in good health. There are a few empty seats in the car but the man, dressed today in a soft lilac suit with a blood red tie, still chooses to sit next to Castiel. Castiel has his satchel in his lap, his hands resting atop the worn and folded leather, lulled to calmness by the gentle swaying of the subway. Six a.m. is never an ideal time to be awake, but Castiel preaches economic responsibility to his students at the university, so he exemplifies it in many ways; including taking the subway to work instead of driving or taking a cab. 

After a few moments, there’s a telltale sniffle from the stranger. Castiel surreptitiously glances over and it’s gradual, but the man’s nose pinkens and his cheeks flush and his plump, soft lips part so he can quietly breathe through his mouth. Castiel wonders if the man’s seemingly weak immune system has a direct correlation with riding public transit, but today Castiel takes pity on the man. Someone who looks that good doesn’t deserve to look so miserable, and Castiel has always been a sort of caretaker.

Especially when it concerns beautiful men such as this.

Call it a hobby. 

Plucking a small travel pack of tissues out of one of the pockets of his satchel, Castiel quietly holds it out to his left, where the man is sitting. The man blinks in surprise, a sniffle accompanying the bewildered expression - and then his features turn sheepish, green eyes flicking up towards Castiel almost shyly as he reaches out and carefully pulls a single tissue free from the pack. The thanks is evident in his body language as he relaxes against the back of the seat and dabs at his nose, apparently more comfortable to mouth breathe now that he can cover it up. Castiel can relate. Mouth breathing is never pleasant. 

Castiel stands when the subway comes to a slow at his stop, and today the smile the stranger sends him is beautifully grateful.

\--

The third time Castiel is blessed with the man’s presence, he’d already been wondering what kind of suit the man would be wearing. As the man takes his seat, dressed today in charcoal with royal blue accents, Castiel’s imagination supplies him with a few jobs. CEO, chairman, someone important… hell, maybe even a model, with those looks. Certainly whatever he does, his pay grade allows him to buy designer. Castiel might be a modest university professor, but he can spot designer threads from a mile away. _Best & Worst Dressed_ is definitely a guilty pleasure. 

Today Castiel’s phone vibrates within his bag. The man starts sniffling again and Castiel first finds his pack of tissues, holding it out towards the eighth world wonder with a knowing smile. The man takes a tissue with a throaty chuckle, and then Castiel finally pulls out his phone. He presses the button and his lock screen appears, a photo of his pitch black, golden-eyed kitty staring back up at him. 

Next to him, the man chuckles and murmurs, “Figures.”

Arching a brow at the stranger, Castiel tilts his head and squints slightly. “Do you have something to say?”

The man must not have realized he’d said it out loud, because his jaw drops a little and those beautiful, wide green eyes settle on Castiel’s face with a bit of alarm. An interesting reaction to being chastised by a stranger. “Uh-” he laughs, embarrassed, wiping his nose with the tissue and then gesturing at Castiel’s phone. “You have a cat.” 

Castiel blinks slowly. 

The man waves the slightly damp tissue around. “M’ allergic.” 

Realization dawns on Castiel. That would explain why the man would be perfectly fine upon getting on the subway and then suddenly dissolve into a leaky faucet. Sitting close to Castiel, the man’s body must be reacting to whatever kitty dander is clinging to Castiel’s clothing. “My apologies,” Castiel finds himself saying. “No matter how I launder my clothes, Alfie still manages to find them and make a bed out of them.”

Laughing with a little less restriction, the man nods. “Wish I wasn’t allergic. Cats are hilarious.” 

“They are,” Castiel murmurs, allowing his eyes to track over the man’s face. Now that they’re actually having conversation, it’s not weird to look at him. Freckles dust over his nose and cheeks, even dot over his eyelids, and Castiel is once again struck by how handsome he is. 

The subway lurches around a corner, signaling that it’s almost time for Castiel’s stop. Putting his phone and the tissues back into his bag, Castiel starts to stand, using the pole next to his seat to keep himself steady. 

“See ya later,” the man imparts. 

Castiel spares him another glance, his heart tripping up into his throat and heat settling a bit more south. His smile is slightly awkward, his brain trying to parse out the fact that someone _this_ gorgeous had not only talked to him but is thinking about seeing him next time, and then he steps off the subway once the doors open. 

Six a.m. Tuesdays are getting better and better.

\--

The fourth time the man sits down next to Castiel, he’s wearing a triumphant expression on his features. Sending him an amused glance, Castiel finally registers that the man carries an honest to God _clutch_ with him - not a delicate girly one, but a sturdy and large masculine one, clearly intended for male fashionistas - black in color with a silver zipper. Castiel takes a moment to catalogue the rest of the man’s outfit, like he always does, noting today’s suit is a deep maroon, his skinny tie black, a silver watch on his wrist. No socks in his shiny black shoes, and damn, this man has to be the best dressed early-riser in the city. 

Castiel’s brought back to presence when the sound of rattling reaches his ears. His eyes focus on a green and white bottle in the man’s hands, _ZYRTEC_ splashed across the label, and then the man is tucking it into his clutch.

“Allergy medicine?” Castiel asks, amused.

The man shrugs and leans back in his seat, resting his clutch across his lap. “If I gotta be in transit at the ass-crack of dawn, I don’t wanna be uncomfortable.” 

“You could always sit somewhere else,” Castiel says, mouth speaking before his brain agrees. 

Instead of looking offended, the man merely smiles smugly. “Nah.” 

Unsure how to handle the conversation now, Castiel looks down at his bag. They’re sitting on a bench seat that can fit four, the row facing into the train rather than forward, and the man is sitting in the chair right next to Castiel’s. He could easily put space between them, but he doesn’t, leaving the other two seats unoccupied and ready for other bodies. 

No one ever joins them, though. It’s always just the two of them, sitting thigh-to-shoulder, facing the bench seat on the other side of the car. 

“So, what’s got you up so early?” The man asks. Now that he’s not suffering from his allergies he’s much more chatty, and Castiel is finding himself properly charmed. 

“I’m a professor who can’t let his students call him a hypocrite,” Castiel replies. 

The man lets out a laugh. “You the ‘have the last word’ type?” 

“Something like that,” Castiel chuckles. “What about you?” He pointedly looks at the man’s suit. “I didn’t know models couldn’t sleep in on Tuesdays.” A very bold statement, but Castiel figures he might as well put down all his cards. 

The wolfish smile he gets in reply is worth it. “Tuesdays are my only early day. I have an extra class in the morning.”

“You teach?” Castiel blinks, surprised. 

“Coach,” the man corrects, his smile softening. “I work with troubled teens on Tuesdays. Coaching classes for kids who wanna go into the entertainment business. Prep ‘em for art schools and get ‘em ready to apply when the time comes.” Castiel’s brows shoot up his forehead and the man laughs, waving a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I _am_ a model, but I also work the business aspect of the job. I’m an agent for a few people and help the kids when I can because I know what it’s like to come from nothing and wanna be something.” 

Absorbing the information, Castiel finds himself nodding slowly. “That’s very admirable.” 

The man flushes, and this time it’s not from allergies. He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs, “Just doin’ what I can to give back.” 

Castiel reassesses his opinion of the man. Designer clothes, beautiful looks, charming personality… _and_ charitable? Is this man real? And why does he choose to sit next to Castiel every Tuesday? And oh, his modesty and slight aversion to Castiel’s compliments.

Stunning.

“Whaddya teach, professor?” The man asks.

Heat zings through Castiel’s core and he replies automatically. “History.”

“Yeah?” The smile widens on the man’s features. “Harvard, right?”

Castiel nods, coming back to himself. The man has probably noticed what stop Castiel gets off at. “Yes. I do lectures as well as seminars for graduate students.” 

“Oh,” the man’s eyebrows raise as his gaze rakes down Castiel’s body. “Tenured?” 

“Working on it,” Castiel says. The man’s eyes are resting on him like a weight, and he’s stunned to realize that the attraction isn’t one-sided. A bit surprising, since the man is literally a model and Castiel teaches his classes in plain black slacks and an assortment of button-downs and crazily patterned bowties. In fact, Castiel knows he’s ‘nerdy’ and uses it as a weapon rather than being embarrassed by it. He’s well known among both colleagues and students and easily recognizable in a crowd.

“Nice.” The man finally says. He holds out his hand and Castiel’s glances down at it, admiring the smoothness of it and the freckles peppering his knuckles. “Dean Winchester.” 

Unable to help the way the corner of his lips quirk, Castiel takes the man’s hand and says, “Castiel Novak.” 

Their hands linger for a moment. Dean licks his lips and leans in a little, “Nice to meet you, Professor Novak.” 

Castiel’s heart flips over in his chest and his groin tightens minutely. It’s an unexpected turn of events but he’s going to welcome it… when he feels a little less blindsided by it. The subway turns and Castiel drops Dean’s hand, gathering his resolve and standing up. Pulling his satchel over his head so the strap rests across his chest, he lets his heavy gaze rest on Dean as the subway slows to a stop. “See you next week.” 

Dean’s eyes flash a little as he nods, sitting back against the seat, picture of nonchalance. He shoots Castiel a finger gun, and Castiel laughs and rolls his eyes as he exits the car, an extra spring in his step.

\--

The following week is busy. The subway is packed, and Castiel had given up his seat to a pregnant woman, choosing to stand and hold on to one of the hand straps. There’s a community event happening so people from all walks of life are on the subway and while Castiel is initially disappointed that he and Dean won’t have much privacy, that thought gets wiped away when Dean enters the car and blinks in surprise at the population. His eyes easily find Castiel in the crowd, though, and he makes his way through the bodies, reaching up for the hand strap next to Castiel’s and sending the man a satisfied grin. 

“Forgot it’s the busiest week of the year,” Dean says by leeway of greeting. He’s holding his clutch in front of his groin so the corners of it don’t knock into anybody, and he’s facing Castiel. The car sways and rattles and the two men sway naturally together, neither of them shying away when their knees knock or their lifted elbows brush. 

At the next stop more people get on and pretty much no one gets off, so Dean and Castiel get pushed closer together. Dean’s knuckles brush against Castiel’s belt, their eyes meet briefly, and Castiel is unsurprised and totally pleased to see Dean’s pupils dilate. Their chests are nearly pressed together and suddenly the past few weeks accumulate into electric gazes and magnetic, accidental touches, and Castiel glances at Dean’s raised hand to get a look at his watch and calculate how much time they have until Castiel’s stop. 

Enough. 

Leaning forward a bit, Castiel lowers his voice. “We might be more comfortable if you turn around.” 

Dean’s brow furrows first in confusion, then smooths in realization. “Sure thing, professor.” He switches hands on the strap above his head and then turns around, this time not shy at all about lining up his back directly against Castiel’s front. Their slight height difference puts the swell of his ass perfectly into the cradle of Castiel’s pelvis, and Castiel takes a deep breath before glancing around the car to take stock of the situation. 

There’s someone directly in front of Dean, a guy holding onto a hand strap with his back to Dean and his gaze on his phone. A cursory glance shows Castiel that at this time of morning people are either dozing until their stop or absorbed in their phone to pass the time, and he’s confident that no one will look their way. Still, he should take some precautions, because the instant Dean turned around and arched his back subtly, Castiel knew he had permission.

Pressing closer, Castiel’s free hand rests on Dean’s hip. The feel of the pressed suit beneath his palm is intoxicating, and he takes a moment to glide his hand up the side of Dean’s suit jacket, before moving it down again and then slipping underneath the hem to rest between the suit jacket and Dean’s button-up. The warmth radiating off of Dean could fry an egg, and Castiel smirks to himself as Dean melts back against him. 

“Listen to me very carefully, Dean.” Castiel rumbles into the man’s ear. The shiver he gets in reply encourages him to continue. “Keep your clutch in front of your crotch. If you move it or drop it, we stop. If you let out a single noise, we stop. If we catch anyone’s attention, we stop.” 

Dean’s head tips in a minute nod, and Castiel dares to lay a kiss to the curve of his neck. Dean exhales shakily, and then Castiel moves his hand forward. His fingers skate along the soft material of Dean’s shirt until his knuckles bump against the solidity of the clutch in front of Dean’s groin, and then with nimble fingers he starts working on undoing the clasp of Dean’s belt. To his credit Dean barely reacts, barely even moves, even though Castiel can feel his body heat up incrementally. With the belt undone Castiel doesn’t pull it free, but uses the extra slack to pop the button and drag down the zipper of Dean’s slacks, pleased to feel firmness underneath the fabric. Dean swallows audibly, but only Castiel can hear it this close, and then Castiel slips his hand into Dean’s pants - and has to stifle his own moan.

“Silk boxers?” Castiel breathes against the back of Dean’s neck. 

He can hear the smirk in the man’s voice. “Silk panties.” 

Castiel squeezes Dean’s bulge through the material in response, not trusting himself to open his mouth for any reason. Knowing that Dean, picture of comfortable and attractive masculinity, is wearing women’s panties underneath his dapper suit hits a lot of Castiel’s buttons all at the same time. The heat of Dean’s cock through the silk creeps up Castiel’s arm and he feels Dean’s knees weaken minutely; Castiel presses up fully against his back during a rumble of the subway, the way they’re pressing together not terribly suspicious while they’re surrounded by people packed like sardines. Dean undoubtedly feels Castiel’s cock pressing against his ass and Castiel presses down on Dean’s bulge, encouraging him to push back. 

Castiel has never done something like this so publicly, but having Dean at his mercy is a delicacy he can’t give up. And Dean obeys so beautifully; his clutch doesn’t move, though his knuckles are probably white from his grip, and he stays blessedly quiet as Castiel’s fingers start dancing over the hard length of his cock through the panties. Dean feels longer than he is thick, and Castiel would really love to get an eyeful but he’ll settle for touch and his imagination. The head of Dean’s cock is peeking out above the elastic waistband of the panties and Castiel’s fingers slide over the slit, smearing the precum. Dean’s hips buck minutely but otherwise he stays still, his breaths almost exaggeratedly deep and smooth. Castiel hooks his finger in the waistband of the panties and snaps it, the elastic slapping against Dean’s shaft, the man sucking in a surprised breath. More precum splurts over Castiel’s fingers and he smirks to himself. 

So. Dean likes being bossed around and likes it a little rough. 

Whatever Castiel did in a past life to deserve this, he’ll spend the rest of this life being grateful for it. 

He spends a bit of time playing the material of the panties, stretching them out, purposely causing the elastic to cut into Dean’s cock and balls in different places. It takes a bit of finesse to push them down one-handed, but he eventually gets the material tucked up underneath Dean’s balls, and it’s a good thing he left Dean’s belt clasped because they’re a wrist flick away from Dean’s pants falling down his thighs and exposing what they’re doing to the entire subway car. 

“What color are they?” Castiel asks, keeping his voice low, the rumble of it barely heard over the rumble of the car. 

“Red,” Dean replies, slightly breathless. “Same as my tie.” 

The fact that Dean matched his panties to his neck tie has Castiel closing his eyes and sending up a prayer for patience and self control. He imagines Dean lying back on a bed, debauched and flushed and panting, tie loosened but still tied around his neck, matching panties tented by his leaking erection. It’s a beautiful picture; one that Castiel commits to seeing in real life sometime in the near future. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” Castiel continues murmuring, deciding to test the waters further. “Are you my good boy, Dean?” 

The slightly strangled noise Dean makes is answer alone, but at this level, Dean knows he needs to answer, so he does. “Yes, Sir.” 

“This is such a pleasant surprise,” Castiel says, finally wrapping his fingers around Dean’s cock, making a tight circle with his fingers. “What are the odds we find each other like this?” Dean bites his lips and bucks his hips shallowly - Castiel tightens his grip, preventing Dean from moving any more than that. “Don’t move. This is a treat, Dean. You’ll take what I give you and nothing more.” Exhaling slowly, Dean nods. Castiel glances up to the hand Dean has on the strap and he presses another light kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, whispering, “Relax your grip on the strap.” 

Dean obeys immediately, the color returning to his fingers. 

“Should I let you come?” Castiel asks, keeping his voice low and casual. _If_ anyone happens to glance at them, it will just look like they’re having a private conversation. Castiel can’t see Dean’s face but he has confidence that Dean’s keeping it as blank as possible, even if Castiel can tell his cheeks are a little flushed. 

“Please,” Dean whispers. 

Castiel loosens his grip just a fraction on Dean’s cock, giving it a languid stroke, keeping his movements small even though they’re hidden by Dean’s clutch. “We should skip work for the day. Get on the next train back to my apartment so I can really touch you. Really look at you.” Dean stays quiet, and he also stays still, and Castiel knows he’s listening intently. “I want to see your panties. I want to see you get them wet, and then I want to make them wetter with my mouth. I love the taste of cum, baby boy,” Castiel nearly growls, thumb swiping the tip of Dean’s cock to smear the precum around. “I could drink you up.” 

“Yes,” Dean agrees, nearly sounding delirious. 

“I would love to hear you,” Castiel continues. “First I want to make you scream, then I want to make you cry.” He twists his wrist, fingers sliding down towards where Dean’s plump balls are fattened by the elastic of the panties pushing them up from behind. “Could you cry, Dean?” 

“Boutta cry right now,” Dean replies, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. 

Castiel squeezes his balls tightly in reply and Dean covers up his startled noise with a cough, the hand on the strap above his head flexing and lifting him slightly off of the subway car floor to try and get away from the painful sensation. “Don’t smart mouth me. I’d hate to gag you.” 

“Sorry,” Dean breathes, relaxing when Castiel’s grip relents and instead starts soothing back up the length of his cock. Castiel’s fingers pause, and Dean quickly says, “Sir.” 

“What heaven did you drop from?” Castiel muses out loud. He knows Dean is blushing, caught between embarrassment and arousal, and the praise is something he wants to heap onto the man. No way Dean is real. No way this beautiful man is a career model and also selfless and kind and witty and _submissive_. 

But he’s here, real and ready in Castiel’s arms, and so Castiel decides to reward Dean for his very existence. 

“I’m going to get a tissue,” Castiel murmurs, “and then I’m going to make you come.” 

“Ok,” Dean breathes. 

Castiel makes sure Dean’s pants aren’t going to fall to his knees before extracting his hand. It’s shiny with precum and he smirks to himself as he gets into his satchel, fishing around to find the little pack of tissues, taking a sick delight in the fact that he’s spreading Dean’s essence around the inside of his bag. Books, papers, pens, an extra bowtie. Dean’s scent is going to linger in this bag for days. Pulling out a single tissue Castiel sends another glance around the car and, satisfied that no one is paying attention, slips his hand back under Dean’s suit jacket and around to the front of his pants. The suit jacket conceals their embrace, and Dean hasn’t moved his clutch, and for a moment Castiel has to think about mechanics for a moment.

He can’t take his hand off the strap above his head, because wrapping both his arms around Dean would catch a few gazes. He can’t jerk Dean off and hold the tissue at the same time; it wouldn’t feel good, and he’d likely tear the tissue to shreds with the movement. Humming thoughtfully, Castiel decides this is a good time for an experiment, and he presses his smirk to Dean’s shoulder briefly before turning his mouth towards the man’s ear. 

“Let’s play a game,” Castiel says. “I’m going to talk you off.”

“Mmh,” Dean lets out a slightly confused breath. “Haven’t… isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” 

“Dexterity and limited space has made me realize that I can’t make you come and clean you up simultaneously with the same hand.”

Dean’s already pretty close to the edge, and Castiel knows that the low timber of his voice is ricocheting through Dean’s body. “C’mon, man, I can’t come without a little help.”

“I assure you, _man_ , I will help you plenty,” Castiel replies, an edge to his voice. 

Dean takes the chastising with a subtle nod, replying with a soft “Yes, Sir” before closing his mouth. 

Castiel allows a few moments for them both to collect themselves, and then presses his hips against Dean’s ass, reminding the man that he’s still hard. “You’re doing so good for me, Dean. I know you can do this.” Dean nods, his posture relaxing slightly. “I can’t wait to look at your face when we do this. I want to see your pretty eyes blow wide when I touch you. I want to see your cheeks flush… I want to see your freckles, Dean, they’re so pretty.” Dean’s hips rock a fraction, and Castiel allows it. He’s holding the tissue, folded neatly, at the head of Dean’s cock, and he knows there’s a bit of friction on the sensitive skin with each movement Dean makes. “I want to take you apart with my mouth. I want to kiss every last inch of your body… and then start all over again. I love nipples, Dean, would you let me play with yours?”

Another nod from Dean, and Castiel hums softly. 

“I don’t particularly like hickies - I think they’re tacky - but I would love to leave a mark on you somewhere. Perhaps with my hand.” Dean keens softly. “Would you like that? A handprint on your body… on your ass, or maybe even the back of your thigh. I would never spank you to punish you, but I will gladly remind you as to whom you belong to.” A pause, Castiel’s pinky stretching out to brush against Dean’s fat balls. “To whom do you belong, Dean?” 

“You,” Dean replies on a breath. 

“Good boy.” Castiel starts stroking the soft skin of Dean’s balls with his pinky, trying to give Dean some relief. “I would love to leave your panties on, put you on your hands and knees and just pull them aside so I can eat your ass.” Dean’s knees tremble, his body temperature skyrocketing. Jackpot. “I could eat you out for hours, Dean. I love going slow. I love savoring things. I would have to teach you patience, wouldn’t I? You’re so eager. It’s so good to take things slow, baby boy.” Dean’s cock throbs. “I can’t wait to eat you out until you’re dripping wet for me. I can’t wait to stretch you open with my tongue and my fingers…” his hips rock forward again. “Do you feel that, Dean? You’re going to need a lot of prep for me to fit inside.” 

Dean lets out a pitiful noise, and Castiel allows it because he knows Dean’s under duress. So close to the edge, ready to explode, but unable to reach the end without physical stimulation. Castiel has faith, though. Dean is remarkable, he can tell already.

“I want to own you,” Castiel confesses, possession lacing the intensity of his voice. “You’re perfect, Dean, and if you were mine I would treat you so well. I’d never leave you unsatisfied, take care of you the way you deserve…” Dean’s hips are rocking again, subtly, and Castiel knows he’s close when his head tips back a little bit, his ear clearly straining to hear more of Castiel’s words. 

He chooses his next sentence carefully, “Make you my sweet, beautiful princess.” 

Dean loses it. He yanks on the hand strap and rocks up onto the balls of his feet as he spills into the waiting tissue and he keeps the clutch firmly in front of his groin as he turns his head and buries his face into the crook of his elbow to hide his flushed features and Castiel watches him fall apart, feels him break. He cleans Dean up almost clinically, then, and tucks the soiled tissue into the pocket of his slacks before working on putting Dean’s clothes back together. Once the man is at least presentable Castiel pulls his hand back and guides Dean to turn around; he helps Dean unclench his fingers from the hand strap so he can switch to his other hand, and once they’re facing each other, Castiel takes in Dean’s wondrous expression. 

“Jesus fuck,” Dean blurts, “marry me.” 

Castiel can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips, reaching up to gently adjust the knot of Dean’s tie as he schools his features. “Can’t,” he says gravely, “you’re allergic to my cat.” 

“I’ll overdose on Zyrtec if I have to,” Dean says. His eyes are shining and his post-orgasmic haze is beautiful, even if it is public, and Castiel aches to see it in his own bed, or even Dean’s bed, first thing in the morning or after a movie or after grading papers. 

Allowing the smile to tug his lips again, Castiel belatedly realizes that he’s missed his stop. Dean notices the same thing, and they share wry smiles as Castiel says he’ll just get off at the next platform. 

“Same time next week?” Dean asks, his voice borderline hopeful.

Castiel pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and plucks a business card from it, slipping it into the breast pocket of Dean’s suit jacket, behind his folded kerchief. “I’m usually home at around six.” 

Dean’s lips quirk. “See you then, professor.” 

With an extra pep in his step, Castiel exits the subway car when it comes to a stop, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He laughs when he feels the soiled tissue in his right pocket, shaking his head as he elects to walk to the university from here, knowing he needs the time to calm down his body. 

Thank God for Zyrtec.

**Author's Note:**

> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


End file.
